Here's chapter 2

Cruise To The Edge

II. Standing

I hate not being in control.

That's not just because of years of captaincy. It's also because for me, being in control over my behaviour, my statements, my emotions – it's necessary. It's crucial. The stars are all I'm living for. I need them. Getting fired because somebody found out too much is just not an option. If I can't exchange the stars for that stupid time-travelling to the twenty-first century I'll exchange them for nothing.

Being the academic advisor of James T. Kirk has driven me beyond that point where I feel like I've lost all control more often than not.

I knew that getting to know him wasn't a good idea in the first place. And, really, I was right. He looks damn good, yes, but I'm way past that. Unfortunately. Being after someone's looks does make the knowledge that you can't ever have them easier to bear.

He's also charming. And quick-witted. And fucking brilliant.

Not like our half-Vulcan model graduate. Not as obviously, and not in the same way. But he definitely is.

Brilliant.

Maybe, I think, I can give him the Enterprise, after I've had her for a few years. He's definitely captain material, and he's probably one of those who'd do better than I would. Also, he'd be far off in space, while I'd be on Earth. Definitely a good idea.

Many years ago I swore myself not to fall in love. After my first… infatuation that ended in really a lot of heartache (more like desperation and suicidal thoughts) I knew I never wanted to go through that again. And most times I actually managed. I detached myself, letting nobody get close to me. And if someone happened to come close enough despite all my best efforts… I ran.

It worked rather well. Every time.

It didn't work on Jim Kirk.

He was like a tornado, waltzing into my life and turning everything upside down. You see, that's what he's good at. Bringing chaos. Stirring up my emotions, blowing my well established rules and rousing my well forgotten past.

This infatuation is not about the past, though. It's not about the Kelvin, and our shared disaster-fate.

It's about Kirk being the one person I've been waiting my whole life to meet.

Well, actually not. Actually I was running and hiding and panicking so much, that in the end I couldn't possibly have avoided him. Fuck.

He's here now, at Starfleet, every fucking day, and I'm just waiting for the damn starship to be finished, so I can get the hell outa here. Because I'm already way past infatuated, and nothing good can come of that. It's something I know only too well.

However, there's no way out of this emotional disaster.

I'll just have to make it till he's done, or the Enterprise is done, and then I can go back to mentally beating myself up and ignoring my heart. Which sounds like a bad kitsch movie.

Really.

Sometimes my thoughts are pretty ridiculous.

Still, I do my best.

I try to avoid him as often as possible. I work so much that I don't have time to think about anything. So much that I'm too tired to dream. I use any distraction technique I know, and I know plenty. I look forward to the day that'll tear us apart. It'll hurt, but it'll also make living a lot easier.

I'm pretty good at waiting, going through with my self-inflicted suppression schedule.

Until one evening he crashes in my office, looking frighteningly similar to my memory of that night I picked him up in Iowa.

"Sorry 'bout disturbing," he says as way of greeting. He throws himself onto a chair before I can offer it to him. "But I need someone to talk to."

I raise an eyebrow. "What about your friends?" I'm hardly the paradigm agony aunt, being known as distanced and rather curt. And, really, heart-felt conversations with the man I'm trying to avoid and not think about aren't exactly what I need.

He snorts. "Bones? Nah. He's an awesome friend, but not exactly one who just listens. Also, he'd ask. And I don't want questions. I just want to talk." He looks at me, eyes too bright, too striking. Too blue. "Could you do that for me, Sir? … Please?"

Awesome. As if I could say no to him. Especially when he stoops and says please. "Of course," I give in, sighing, and make myself comfortable in my not exactly comfortable chair, ready for a long night. "What do you want to talk about?"

He shrugs. "Anything, really?"

"Aha. Do questions include how you got yourself a black eye, a blubber lip and a broken nose?"

Said lips are twitching now. "Well, yes. Anyway, I suppose you don't want to know about me getting into a stupid bar brawl once again?" He's looking at me through ridiculously long eyelashes.

Jeez.

"No, I didn't really want to know that." My eyebrow's trying to make it above my hairline, but I suppose I didn't manage to keep the amusement from my voice. "What did you say or do that someone beat you up like that?"

He squirms.

"Ah I see. One of the forbidden questions." I decide to be nice and not press, despite the fact that I'm terribly curious. And that I could make him spill. "What do you want to talk about then?"

"I don't really know." He's clearly out of sorts. Jim Kirk who doesn't know what to say? Must be a novelty, really. Whatever happened, it's obviously still bothering him.

I shake my head. "We need to talk about your Interspecies Ethics exam anyway. I'm afraid you'll have to retake that one."

His relief when he concentrates on the academic matter is almost palpable. "Why?" he asks, and a little of his usual stubbornness is already rearing its head again.

"Some of your answers are not exactly well worded and can easily be misunderstood. I read through them, and I know what the Officer's problems with them are. She'll let you pass anyway, but if you really want to be captain and venture out, you'll have to deal with lots of representatives of different species. Good grades on the according Ethics exams do look better. It may be the matter of you being assigned the more interesting missions, or not. Actually I think you should retake the exam orally. I do get your points, and I think you can communicate them to the Officer, too. Not on paper, though."

He nods thoughtfully. "I suppose," he says. Then: "Do you know anything new about my Tactical Analysis exam?" He's relaxed, and the conversation is actually quite pleasant.

I like it.

We did never talk like this – talking for talking's sake, not because it was necessary.

Probably I should be running, pulling up all my defences, but somehow I can't help myself. I'm losing all my protective distance here, but it's just too nice to give it up.

After we're done with Academy talk we discuss the weapon systems the fleet's ships are fitted with. Then different tactics in a certain fight situation. Then the newest findings in plasma physics. Then his friend Bones. Then Bourbon.

It's been decades since I've been this open with anyone.

Yes, I really like it.

And I'm afraid I won't be able to stop.